


Trolleys

by avoidingavoidance



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Friends to Lovers, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:32:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1596689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidingavoidance/pseuds/avoidingavoidance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Marco have been living together for something like a year, year and a half now, after having been friends in separate houses since high school. They’ve grown accustomed to each other in all the ways dude roommates usually do. Sock on the door, shirtless summers, drunken passing out on the living room floor, the works.</p><p>Well, "accustomed" is relative, and this summer brings some major changes.</p><p>(gratuitous porn i promised mouse like a hundred years ago)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trolleys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheFaceofaMouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFaceofaMouse/gifts).



> based on an au prompt given to [beautiful mouse](http://thisismouseface.tumblr.com) forever and a day ago
> 
> aka the time i meant to write porn and got way too invested in the micro-world-building sob
> 
>  
> 
> [i have a tumblr](http://avoidingavoidance.tumblr.com)

Jean slams the door to his apartment open but doesn’t come inside yet. Instead, he throws his bag into the kitchen and hollers, “Marco, trolley.” He rakes a hand through his hair and closes the door again, leaning against the wall outside the apartment. He knows his roommate will know what he means.

When Marco opens the door, Jean’s hands are stuffed deep in the pockets of his work pants and his eyes are closed.

Rough day.

Marco yanks the cork out of a mostly-full bottle of wine from their last party and takes a swig as they start down the hallway, leaving their door unlocked. Jean takes the bottle when offered, downing a good quarter of it in one go.

Finding the thing is always half the adventure. Today, it’s in the basement, along with all the neighbors’ parked cars in their designated spaces. Jean and Marco don’t own a car. It seems stupid in the city.

“Mm,” Marco says around a mouthful of wine, swallowing thickly as he points. “There it is.”

“Who left it all the way the fuck over here?”

“Same people as last time, I imagine,” Marco says, accepting the bottle as Jean hoists himself into the shopping cart with some sort of grace. 

Marco wheels the cart back to the elevator and hits the button for a random floor, and Jean reaches back for the bottle again. 

Their apartment complex is 15 floors of shitty apartments arranged in a rectangle around a courtyard, and the hallways are aging, chipped linoleum. There’s a slow elevator and a shopping cart for when you blow four hundred dollars at the grocery store, so your arms don’t fall off carrying all that shit, but that’s not what Jean and Marco use it for. 

For them, it serves a much higher purpose.

Marco doesn’t ask until they hit the sixth floor and they’ve started their routine. “What happened?”

“So you remember that client I had to go to Wisconsin for last week?” Jean tugs his tie loose, his sleeves already shoved up over his bony elbows.

“Mhm,” Marco hums, leaning his elbows onto the cart’s handle and lacing his fingers over the little basket. 

“Well, the tech lead called us and said the changes I implemented broke all his shit.”

“Did they?”

“Only because he touched them wrong,” Jean grouses as he tips the bottle back for another good swig. Marco chuckles and hauls the cart around a corner, continuing their circuit of the hallway. “So I had to sit my boss down and go through the code line by line and try to save my ass, but as I was doing so, I found the trip that fucking broke everything to begin with.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have to go back to Milwaukee?”

“For one fucking line of code? They’re not paying a thousand bucks for one line of code. I emailed the tech lead. Hopefully he’ll stop being a fucking monkey with a wrench long enough to fix their shit.”

“Why doesn’t he just make the changes there to begin with?”

Jean hums around the mouth of the bottle, then swallows. “Hands,” he mutters, and Marco raises his hands so that the basket doesn’t squish them when Jean leans all the way back, folding the thing in. His hair, stuck up from raking his hands through it all day, brushes Marco’s chin until the brunette stands up more. “They want to have a ‘company presence,’ you know? Like, the clients are so important that they’ll send their precious little gophers across the country to smash their faces against the keyboard in person.”

Marco laughs, then utters a soft ‘shit’ when he doesn’t turn soon enough and the corner of the trolley hits the cheap wall and leaves a black mark. They both pull faces at the spot. Jean erupts in giggles, leaning his head back, and Marco turns down the long hallway and pushes the cart faster. Jean crosses his legs, knees pressed against the bent, aging wiring, and Marco picks up speed and jumps onto the bar over the wheels. 

The cart roars down the long hallway, jumping over cracks in the floor, jostling them and the wine, and Jean closes his eyes and reaches his hands up like he’s on a roller coaster, humid air slipping through his fingers.

The hollow mimicry of freedom ends in front of the elevator. Today wasn’t that bad in retrospect, it was only a one-loop day. Jean hops out of the cart and almost eats shit when he lands much drunker than he’d anticipated, and Marco rolls the trolley into the elevator and reaches in, fumbling at the buttons randomly before turning to Jean with a smile.

“Thanks, man,” Jean mumbles, slapping Marco on the shoulder as they turn toward the stairs to hike the three floors up to their apartment.

\--

Three weeks later, Marco pokes his head into the apartment and tries to keep his voice steady while he calls for Jean. It fails.

It’d been hot all day. Jean had opted to take a work-from-home day instead of sweating his balls off all the way to the office. It’s late, but it’s still hot and humid as fuck, and as he buttons his shorts hanging loose off his bony hips, he wonders whether that bottle of tequila is still lodged behind the kettle above the sink.

Sans a shirt and with no desire to find one, Jean peers into the cabinet and yanks out the unopened bottle with a victorious sound.

He skips the wine. Marco may be good at hiding, but not good enough to escape Jean.

The trolley is on the ground floor this time, wedged into the mailbox alcove. It’s starting to look worse for the wear.

The elevator lands them on the fourteenth floor, and two loops of Marco sitting silently and taking progressively larger sips of tequila pass before he lets up. Jean hasn’t seen his face the entire time.

“Bertholdt broke up with me.”

Jean raises his eyebrows and rounds the corner. “ _Bert_ broke up with _you?_ Why?”

Marco shrugs and mumbles, “Hands,” signaling that he’s ready to fly.

When Jean rides the cart down the long hallway, Marco reaches his arms up, but his eyes aren’t closed. They’re trained on Jean, his head tilted back against the edge of the cart. 

Jean tries not to notice. 

The bottle’s more than halfway gone, and he can’t account for even half that.

When they land in front of the elevator, Marco leans unsteadily up onto his knees and turns to face Jean. The blonde’s hands grip the handle tightly, and he doesn’t back away, even when Marco’s tear-stained, flushed face is close enough that Jean can taste the tequila on his breath.

Marco’s shaking hands slide along Jean’s stubbly cheeks, holding him gently as he leans in and presses their lips together.

Jean closes his eyes, leaning just barely into the kiss, just enough to satisfy himself but not enough to let Marco know his Big Secret. His fucking huge crush he’s been harboring for the last two years, the one he’d been fighting since Marco and Bert got together freshman year of college so long ago.

His heart thunders against his ribs, and when Marco pulls away and drops another tiny kiss against his lips, it takes all of Jean’s self-control and then some to let him pull away.

His eyes stay closed, lips barely parted, and when Marco wraps his arms around his shoulders and buries his face in his sweaty neck and just fucking _cries_ , the urge to wrap him in his arms and hold him tight and make everything okay is almost overwhelming.

The only thing Jean allows himself is leaning his head down against Marco’s. His grip stays firm on the cart’s handle, anchoring him. 

Marco cries himself out and looks to be close to passing out by the time he’s reduced to sparse sniffling, so Jean wheels the cart back into the elevator and hits the button for their floor. He doubts Marco could make the stairs.

Getting Marco to climb onto his back so he can piggyback him to the apartment is a task, but the laughter breathing hot and alcoholic across his ear is a relief from the crying. Jean bends over and coerces Marco into opening the door, and luckily he doesn’t ask questions when Jean dumps him into his bed instead of Marco’s own. 

Marco passes out, and Jean stays up all night surfing the internet and trying to ignore the ache in his chest.

\--

A few months pass. Marco never brought up the kiss, and of course Jean doesn’t want to remind him if he’d forgotten. He tries hard to give the impression that he’s not thinking about it.

Jean doesn’t even notice that the bathroom door was closed over when he barges in one Friday night to brush his teeth, barely buzzed on a few post-work beers. He rolls his sleeves up and tugs his tie loose while he runs the water. Bad habit. Marco always yells at him about the fishes.

“Leave some for the fishes.” Speak of the devil. Jean about chokes himself on his toothbrush and turns around, foam dripping onto his chin. Marco smiles up at him from the bath, obviously in the middle of relaxing amongst a scant spread of bubbles. A rubber ducky sits on one of his bent knees, like they’d been in the middle of some conversation.

Jean leans back against the sink and resumes his brushing, tilting his head at Marco. The brunette runs his wet hands through his hair and pushes his bangs back against his head. “Went out after work?” Jean nods, switching to brush the other side of his mouth. “Connie and Sasha?” Jean shakes his head, and Marco wrinkles his nose. “Thomas and them?” A nod. “I thought you hated Thomas.” A lopsided shrug. “And I thought Mina hated you after you dumped her.” Jean holds up two fingers on his spare hand in a ‘V’ shape, then brings them together. “Oh, they’re together now?” Jean nods. Marco hums, cupping water in his hands and pouring it over his face. 

Turning and spitting, Jean tries hard not to think about how very naked and wet Marco is. He’s unsuccessful. 

What possesses him to turn back to Marco and contemplate him after he’s rinsed out his mouth and face, Jean will never be able to explain. But the bright smile the brunette throws at him almost knocks him out. 

“Hey, Marco,” Jean mumbles, and Marco tilts his head. “You haven’t been seeing anyone lately?”

The flash of pain that would come over Marco’s bright eyes since the breakup has been slowly fading, and when Jean asks, it’s completely absent. Only vague confusion now. “Mm, nope. It’s been busy at work.”

Jean leans off the sink and comes to sit by the bathtub, stealing Marco’s rubber ducky off his soapy knee. “How so?”

“Well, you know we started buying used books too, right?”

Giving a murmured assent, Jean rests one elbow on the edge of the tub and turns the ducky idly in his fingers. Marco owns a cute little bookstore in the fancy part of town, and the smell of dry pages never really leaves him. 

“Well, turns out it’s more work than it sounds. I have to enter them all into the system, and figure out which ones are worth taking, and—”

“And resist the urge to buy them all?” Jean quirks a smile at Marco, who laughs loudly. It’s not exactly a big secret that Marco’s room is basically a library, and his books are starting to pour into every other room in the apartment, Jean’s room included.

“Something like that, yeah.”

Jean hums and goes back to examining the ducky. Marco runs water up his arms, over his shoulders, and Jean can feel Marco watching him.

“Why do you ask?”

Jean gives a haphazard shrug. “Curious. You’ve been home a lot more recently.”

“Such is life.” Marco laughs again. “Sorry to be intruding on your run of the apartment.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jean chuckles, throwing the ducky at Marco. “It’s not terrible having you around.”

“No?”

Jean shakes his head. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t left yet. He picks at a loose thread on his black slacks and stalls some more.

“Girl in Testing asked me out last week.”

“Yeah? What’d you say?”

“She’s not that interesting.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah.” Fuck it. Fuck it all, Jean decides. “Hey, Marco, do you remember the night Bert broke up with you?”

A shadow passes over Marco’s face. Jean feels shitty, and Marco bites his lip and uses his hands to spray a little stream of water across the tub. “Which part?”

“After the trolley.”

Marco stares down at the water, and Jean stares at him. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Why?”

“I just… I know you’re not gay, and I just wanted to feel close to someone.”

Jean shifts onto his knees and stares at Marco, who avoids his eyes and blushes. “Was that the only reason?”

Marco doesn’t answer. He just fidgets with the ducky and stares into the water, slowly looking gloomier and gloomier, frustrated with himself. 

“I told her there’s someone I like,” Jean mumbles while he’s still got the balls, and when Marco turns to look at him, eyes wide and face bright fucking red, Jean’s there and kissing him before he can say anything.

Marco gives a surprised squeak, one hand coming up to Jean’s shoulder and soaking the pale fabric of his shirt as he grips it, and Jean tilts his head and kisses Marco the way he wanted to that night. He licks along Marco’s lower lip and bites gently at it, and Marco lets out a gasp and pushes at Jean’s shoulder just barely.

It’s enough. Jean leans back, just enough to look over Marco’s face, honestly more surprised than anything to see that his face is an open book, a mix of shock, hesitance, and something much hotter burning in his eyes.

“Jean, I, ah…”

Jean sits on his heels, crossing his arms on the edge of the tub, and rests his lips on his forearm as he peers up at Marco. He waits, though, blinking slowly.

The flush across Marco’s cheeks darkens. “How long?”

Jean shrugs. “Ages.”

“You didn’t… say anything?” Jean shakes his head. “Because I was with Bert?” A nod.

Marco swallows, staring down at him. “You didn’t… that night.” Jean shakes his head again. “Why?”

“Who the fuck takes advantage of a drunk dude when he just split up?”

Biting his lip, Marco stares for a moment, his eyes wide. He reaches over, though, his wet fingers sliding across Jean’s cheeks, and as Jean leans up onto his knees Marco follows, pressed against the wall of the tub. Jean wraps his arms around Marco’s waist, holding them together as much as he can, and as the water beading over Marco’s skin soaks through his shirt, Jean looks into his eyes for the hesitance he’d seen before. 

It’s not there.

When their lips meet again, the softness has left them, and they kiss hard and needy. Jean nips at Marco’s lips again, and he parts them on a sigh, their tongues sliding together easily. Holding Marco tighter, Jean trails his hands over slick skin. He kisses him deeper and moans softly into him. Marco’s hands slide from his face to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons with shaking fingers. 

Jean’s hands creep down to Marco’s ass and squeeze tightly, and the squeak Marco lets out against his lips makes the blonde grin. Marco kisses him again, mumbling something vaguely like ‘shut up’ into it, and when he finally manages Jean’s shirt he slides his wet hands along hot, pale skin somewhat reverently. 

Growing impatient, Jean rips his shirt off and attempts to yank his tie over his head, despite Marco pressing against him again and trailing his tongue up the shell of his ear.

“Hey,” Jean mumbles, and the breathy chuckle in his ear makes him acutely aware of the way his dick is straining against his pants.

“Should keep it on,” Marco murmurs.

“’S dry-clean only.”

“You’re no fun.”

Jean growls and manages to yank the tie over his head, biting at Marco’s shoulder. “I’ll show you ‘no fun.’” He pushes Marco back into the water and stands. “Don’t move,” he says as he works his belt off. “Wanna fuck you just like that.” 

Sinking into the still-warm water with a little whimper, Marco nods and watches Jean rush out of the bathroom.

Jean kicks off his shoes and socks on his way to Marco’s room, where he rips through the bedside table until he finds lube. The bottle colorfully advertises its waterproof properties, and Jean grins and rifles in search of condoms too. He takes like five of the damn things. Just in case.

He strides back into the bathroom, already unbuttoning his pants, and the sight of Marco biting his lip and grinning and slowly stroking his hard cock kind of stops him in his tracks.

The brunette raises his eyebrow at the wealth of condoms. “High hopes, mm?”

“Shut up,” Jean murmurs as he dumps the stuff onto the floor within reach and climbs into the tub with his pants still half-fastened. He barely notices the soaking fabric as he shoves them and his boxers down around his thighs and melts between Marco’s legs. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

Marco arches his hips against Jean’s and gasps at the sweet rub of their arousals. “Then show me.”

Growling again, Jean wrangles Marco until he’s on his knees, hands braced against the wall. He runs his hands all over the brunette, following the trail of his fingers with his lips down his arched spine. “Gonna fuck you all over this apartment,” he murmurs against the curve of Marco’s lower back, and the shiver that runs through him makes him sigh. Jean presses messy, open-mouthed kisses over bony hips, his hands curling around them, and when he starts kissing lower, the brunette leans his forehead against the tile with a soft, stuttered moan. 

The broad slick of Jean’s tongue sliding down, over Marco’s entrance, achingly slow and fucking hot as hell has the brunette shaking, biting at his hand, obviously struggling against the urge to buck back into it. He reaches down and gives his aching cock a tug, but Jean slides his palms from Marco’s ass, around and up his thighs, spreading wide over his hips so he can nudge Marco’s hand away.

“Let me take care of you,” Jean whispers against the brunette, and Marco gives another squeak before nodding. "’Nd don’t hold back.” Marco’s about to respond, but the way Jean slides his tongue over him again drives whatever it was straight out of his head. Jean’s hands slide down again as he shifts his knees back, the squeak of fabric against the bottom of the tub muffled under the water, and he takes care in the way he trails his fingers slowly down the insides of Marco’s thighs, where he tugs them a little further apart. 

He laves his tongue over Marco gently, encouragingly, and by the time he stiffens his tongue and pokes experimentally, the brunette is whining and gasping Jean’s name. The blonde pushes his tongue into Marco’s ass, moaning at the hitch in the brunette’s voice, and he presses his lips against him as he thrusts his tongue slowly into him.

“F-fuck, fuck, _Jean_ —”

Jean sighs and fucks him a little faster, flicking his tongue into him and dropping little messy kisses against him. One hand slides up to Marco’s cock, palming him with a moan, and when he leans in hard and fucks his tongue deep into him, the brunette’s high, airy whimpers make Jean’s head spin.

He pulls away with another firm swath of his tongue, grinning at the way Marco twitches, and he grabs the lube from the floor before he leans up to kiss across his shoulder.

“Fuck,” Marco breathes, turning to look at Jean over his shoulder. The blonde leans in and Marco meets him gladly, moaning into the kiss as he grinds his ass back against Jean’s cock. Pale hands grip Marco’s hips tightly as he gasps against the brunette’s lips, the bottle pressing against the small of his back. Jean regains his composure, though, and pops the cap on the lube. He leans away from Marco again, dropping several little kisses against his parted, flushed lips as he does so, and spreads probably too much lube over two of his fingers. 

Marco’s already relaxed when he slides his fingers over him, still leaned back so he can actually see what he’s doing. When he sinks one slowly into Marco, the brunette lets out a shaky exhale, watching Jean work over his shoulder. The flush blooming dark over his cheeks almost covers the freckles spread across his face, and Jean bites his lip at the wanton image he makes as he presses his finger deep into him.

Jean manages to work a second finger into him, thrusting them slowly and trying not to think too hard about the way Marco looks spread around him or the way he moves back against him or how fucking _tight_ he is.

“J-Jean,” Marco groans. Jean flicks his eyes back up to him, very certain that he looks just as fucking needy as Marco does, especially given the way Marco shivers and rides back against his fingers a little harder. “C-curl your fingers down a little—” Jean does. “—oh _fuck, there_ —” Jean moans softly.

The sound is almost lost in the way Marco’s gasping and keening, though, and Jean tightens his grip on Marco’s hip with his free hand as he haphazardly slicks a third finger with the lube dripping out of Marco and pushes it into him. He thrusts a little harder, curling his fingers against the brunette’s sweet spot, and the way Marco arches his back and spreads his thighs as far as the tub will let him as he moans for Jean is fucking intoxicating.

It’s too much.

Jean pulls his fingers out and reaches over the tub for a condom, ripping the thing open with his teeth and just managing to catch it when it bounces out of the wrapper. Marco watches Jean roll it on, slicking it with more lube and a breathy groan, and when Jean wraps an arm around the brunette’s waist and leans in to kiss him again, Marco whines at the way Jean rubs his cock against him.

“J-Jean, god…”

“’S it okay?” Jean’s voice is rough when he asks, low and raspy with arousal, and when Marco gives his enthusiastic approval, he reaches between them to steady his cock and presses into the brunette.

Jean’s eyes squeeze shut at the way Marco feels around him, _tight_ and hot and fucking _incredible_. He just barely manages to keep his composure as he slowly fills Marco, and the brunette is breathing hot little gasps and keening whimpers and generally not helping Jean keep his wits about him. He just wants to ram his cock into Marco, fuck his brains out, hear his name from Marco’s lips in breathless screams, and when he finally seats himself he melts against the brunette and holds him tightly and whispers his name against his ear over and over.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re thick,” Marco moans, wriggling his hips. “Ngh, feels good…”

“M-Marco,” Jean breathes, moaning hot into the nape of his neck. “C-can I…?”

He gives a stuttered assent, but he’s still insanely tight around Jean’s dick, so for both of their sakes when Jean pulls back a little and rolls his hips back in, he does so slowly, testing the waters. Marco’s keening moan is more than enough answer for him, so he sets a slow, deep rhythm, buying himself time to get used to the heat wrapped around his cock. 

His self-control doesn’t last long.

Jean grips Marco’s hips and fucks him harder, moving faster and giving gasping moans as Marco tenses and gasps, squeezing him in the most _perfect_ fucking way. He pulls the brunette back onto his dick, adjusting his hips so he can fuck along the brunette’s sweet spot, and the way Marco arches under him and cries out is fucking _amazing_.

“Oh f-fuck, _Jean_ ,” Marco moans, reaching back to tangle his hand in Jean’s hair as the blonde mouths along his shoulder, tasting sweat and sweet-smelling bathwater. The water splashes around them, and Marco curses as some sloshes over the edge of the tub onto the floor. “Jean, the— _fuck_ —the w-water. Management says if it leaks again they’ll take our s-security deposit.” 

Jean whines and moves to bite at Marco’s ear. “Could move.”

“C-could, but— _shit,_ Jean—” 

Jean doesn’t wanna fucking move. He does want to see Marco’s face, though. He pulls out, and before Marco can move to get out of the tub, he tugs and maneuvers the brunette so he’s on his back, knees bent over Jean’s elbows, and when he reaches back to grip the tub on either side of Marco he sinks back into him with a low moan.

Marco’s hands move to grip Jean’s shoulders, palms sliding over sweat slick-skin, and when Jean starts moving again, the way he’s got Marco bent back lets his cock hit him fucking _deep_ and _perfect_ and _fuck_.

The expression that spreads over Marco’s flushed face drives Jean a little crazy. He moves hot and slow, pulling back far with every aching thrust before filling the brunette up and making him whimper. It’s exactly what Jean had wanted, but the way Marco’s eyes roll shut just makes him want to fuck him harder, security deposit be damned.

He leans in close and nips at Marco’s flushed lips, still rolling his hips maddeningly slow. “W-wanna fuck you hard,” he manages, voice shaking. “I wanna hear you scream my name. I wanna see you come so hard you pass out.” He snaps his hips, just enough to make Marco cry out. “I’m gonna fuck you like that. Gonna make the neighbors complain about how loud you get. Hope you don’t have plans this weekend, because I’m not fucking letting up until Wednesday.” Marco whimpers and shivers under Jean, sucking in sharp breaths with every slow thrust, and when he rides his hips back into the blonde, Jean can’t help but tilt his head back with a low moan, eyes sliding shut. The way Marco’s tightening around him is mind-blowing, the water sliding in waves around them, and the precome dripping heavy from the brunette’s cock slicks his stomach. 

“J-J-Jean, oh fuck—” Jean thrusts deeper, grinding his hips into Marco, and the brunette arches his back with a gasping cry. “Jean, I’m g-gonna come—”

“Do it,” Jean gasps, leaning in to kiss Marco quick and messy. “Lemme see how you come for me.”

Marco’s nails dig into Jean’s shoulder, and he pulls one hand away to curl around his cock. He rocks his hips back into Jean and strokes himself with a low moan in time with the blonde’s thrusts. The way he licks his lips, though, and the way he watches Jean with a dark, fucked-out gaze makes Jean whimper. Marco’s so _intense_ , his lips parting on gasping moans of Jean’s name, and it takes a surprising amount of self-control to not just fucking blow right then. Instead, he bends Marco back just a little further, just enough to see that needy expression fall back over his face as he fucks him just that little bit harder.

His moans grow higher and louder and breathier, until he’s crying out and shaking in Jean’s arms. “J-Jean, fuck, ‘m coming, coming coming—” Marco’s back arches and his eyes squeeze shut and he clamps tight on Jean’s cock as he whines and comes _hard_ on his chest, fingers moving faster over his cock, and the way Marco just barely manages to choke out Jean’s name is enough to send the blonde over the edge. 

He presses himself against Marco and buries his cock deep, fucking him with short, fast thrusts as he moans the brunette’s name against his throat, hands moving to grip Marco’s sides tight with shaking fingers. “F-fuck, Marco, _fuck_ —”

Marco’s arm moves to wrap around Jean’s neck as he comes, shaking and moaning too loud to be muffled against sweaty skin. Marco buries his face into Jean’s hair, jolting slightly from every movement of his dick inside him. When the blonde kisses up his neck, over his jaw, and ridiculously sweet against his freckled cheek, Marco gives a breathless grin and reaches up to scratch his clean nails through the shorter, darker hair on the back of Jean’s head.

“Goddamn,” Jean manages, sliding his arms out from under Marco’s knees and around his waist. The brunette wraps his legs around Jean’s hips as he leans up to kiss him deeply, contently, idly running his come-slick fingers through the bathwater.

“Should really get out,” Marco says, wiggling his fingers at Jean.

“You’re a prune,” the blonde laughs, catching Marco’s hands and twining their fingers as he leans down to kiss him again.

“Mm,” Marco hums, pulling back from the kiss just far enough to mumble, “And it’s pretty cold now.”

Insatiable, Jean kisses him again, twitching his hips to pull out before he stands and pulls Marco up with him.

When Marco’s cuddled up in Jean’s bed a little while later, he watches the blonde fuck with his computer for a little while, having changed out of his soaked dress pants and into sweats. “Whatcha doing?”

Jean blinks at Marco, then blushes a little and turns the monitor toward him. He chucks his wireless mouse over to him and crosses his arms, staring pointedly out the window.

Confused, Marco grabs the mouse and leans toward the monitor, squinting.

“Jean.”

“Hn.”

“Are you seriously asking me to be your boyfriend by making me hit submit on your relationship status change?”

Jean doesn’t respond.

Marco laughs riotously, and Jean pouts more. “Jean, you’re a big nerd,” he manages as he hits submit, and Facebook cheerily confirms the change on Jean’s end. “Seriously?”

“Don’t gotta if you don’t wanna.”

“C’mere, you toad.”

Jean looks at him out of the corner of his eye, then leaves his chair and presses himself over Marco with a begrudging smile. The way the brunette is grinning and hugging him tight is too much not to.


End file.
